Beyond Room 302

Two young nineteen year-old kids are running the streets dressed like a rough and tumble thirties thug and his sexy gangster girlfriend in the boy's 1985 Caprice -- they're living the Halloween dream, pretending they're other people while they tramp around town. If her father saw them together he'd probably go nuts and run them off the road. But he'll never know his princess is running wild with a flake from the wrong side of the tracks.

Her name's Helen -- a slim girl with shoulder length blond hair, a high forehead, emerald eyes, a thin, royal nose and thick, heart shaped lips. She has a small mole just next to her right eyebrow that the boy finds adorable. She wears the uniform of the 1930s anti-heroine with aplomb: the simple green A-shaped dress drapes her light figure with grace and it proudly shows off the cleavage of her wriggling, wineglass shaped breasts. Her pert nipples push against the sheer material.

His name's Drake. He plays sometimes in a band and helped Helen in English -- it was how they met. He fell in love with her when he saw her at a gig and she knew all the words to his original songs. His eyes are brown and his hair black and pulled tight in a pony tail. He wears a white shirt and a croupier's vest and suspenders and black slacks over his lanky frame. He tops it off with a battered fedora. His nose is a bit crooked and his lips are thin and his wisp of a goatee lends him a fierce appearance.

The Halloween party they attended is over and they decided to check out the old haunts -- so that's why they pull into the parking lot of Madame Hephzibah's Halloween Haunted Hotel -- Where each room is a different scare (one night only). Three stories of kitschy parlor haunts in a building that is said to have been built over a graveyard. As they climb up the rattling staircase, Helen pats the lighted jack-o-lantern for luck and they slide up to the front desk.

"Well, what can I do for you kids?" Hephzibah asks them. She is lovely with shoulder length black hair and big hazel eyes. Her skin is the color of a Mediterranean beach and her gypsy costume flatters her old world femininity. Curves, curves, and more curves.

"We want a room," Drake says as he puts a roll of bills on the counter. Hephzibah eyes them and then smiles as she notices how he is holding Helen's hand. She also notices the anxiety and anticipation on their faces.

"I do happen to have something free right now," Hephzibah says and she turns and grabs a lonely key. "It's on the celebrity death floor. It's themed after Bonnie and Clyde's ballistic goodbye."

Helen squeals as she squeezes Drake's hand. "I told you this was a good idea," she whispers to his ear and pecks his cheek.

"Tonight's your first time, isn't it?" Hephzibah unabashedly asks.

Helen gasps and Drake's face flushes red, but they don't deny it but they look away from Hephzibah, meeting each others gaze.

"I have that gypsy sixth sense about things," Hephzibah reassures them. "And the two of you just look so into one another, you'd have to be blind not to realize it." She takes 20$ from the roll of bills and slides the check-in book in front of them. "Half-price, one night only. Usual check-out is 11 a.m., but you can stay till one o'clock, if you like."

"Don't go overboard though," Hephzibah warns. "A love like yours can be a beacon for strange things when the veil is as thin as it is tonight."

"More gypsy wisdom?" Drake asks as he scoops the key and begins to lead Helen to room number 302.

"Call it gypsy experience."

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Drake fiddles with the key to room 302 while Helen wraps her arms around his waist and clasps her hands over his crotch. His erection is nascent but she knows it'll reach full maturity within moments. She puts her tongue in Drake's ear and she feels him shiver against her.

"Do that again," he moans and she obliges. She begins to unbuckle his belt when laughter fills the hallway. A group of costumed revelers rush past them on their way to another Halloween party. As they disappear around a corner, Drake manages to open the door and he slips inside, Helen hot on his heels. She slams the door shut behind her and pushes Drake against it. She wraps her arms around his neck and he grasps her slender waist and they press their foreheads together.

"Alone at last," he whispers as he looses himself in her captivating green eyes, imagining the jungle of passion she hides there.

"But for how long?" Helen asks, knocking his hat aside and tugging at the elastic holding his long hair. It falls freely past his shoulders, luxuriant and black -- a androgyny of feminine and warrior. She wants this young man, a longing that ignites her pussy and it flows a poison of desire through her limbs and she knows Drake is the cure.

Drake allows his hands to roam up her back and he feels her muscles writhe beneath her skin, like a second self demanding its freedom. He pulls her close and he feels the electricity rise between them while she closes her eyes and closes the gap separating them. Their lips touch and though they have kissed hundreds of times, the combination of the escapism of Halloween and the genuine love he feels for this girl and the knowledge that he was soon going to possess her lends their kiss a heated passion he has rarely known beyond the adulation while rocking a drunken crowd.

Their tongues explode from their mouths and come together in a clash of greed and desire. They push away from the door and twirl about the room, hair flailing madly as they attack their costumes, almost ripping them apart -- around them, black and white pictures of Bonnie and Clyde and other 20s and 30s legends blur together into a gray cloud of memory.

Finally they tumble onto the bed. Drake is on his back and Helen straddles him. His chest is bare and she has her hands there. He admires her sheer purple bra and matching panties. Her pink nipples stand out against the silky fabric and she's proud of how they captivate him. Her belly is taut ans she smiles when he moves his hands from her hips to stomach and up to her breasts.

Drake holds her soft orbs with a delicate reverence, pinching her hard nipples till she lets out a little squeal. Helen feels his cock nudge her ass and she grabs his hands and she kisses his palms. He lets his hands fall and she undoes the clasp between her smallish breasts. He sighs when she slides the bra off and he sees her breasts for the first time.

"You're so beautiful, Helen," Drake whispers as he cups her soft skin and relishes how warm she feels in his hands. She throws her head back and then lets herself fall onto his body. She feels his heartbeat pounding against his chest as if it trying to break into hers. She grinds her crotch against his and her mouth finds his and they kiss again, lost in the rhythm of their humping. She slides up his body and offers him her nipples -- he takes one in his mouth and bites down lithely while teasing it with his tongue. She moans to his touch and reaches down between his legs and rubs his erection through his boxers.

Drake sighs as Helen caresses his growing member. He works his boxers off and she does the same with her panties, their kisses now mingling with bouts of laughter and giggling. His cock bounces against her bare pussy and the both gasp as their most sensitive bit of flesh touch for the first time.

Drake is riven by desire -- he grabs Helen by the waist and swings her around, off of him and on her back. Helen is anxious but when she feels his heft on her, she's filled by a sense of safety, romance and she wants to abandon herself to Drake.

Helen opens her mouth greedily and latches onto his tongue while he covers her face with a storm of little licks and kisses. As their tongues dance, she reaches between her legs and grabs his cock -- he stiffens as her grip is firm and unyielding. She begins to rub it between her engorged pussy lips. They both moan as they feel a sudden hesitation.

Helen kisses him deeply, demanding that he answer in kind. Drake does so, without fail. "I want this," she answers. "I want you."

Drake lowers his face to hers and gently touches her lips while she guides him slowly into her pussy. When the tip of his cock passes into her moist cunt, his body stiffens and he must fight the urge to just dive into her velvet underground.

"Gently," Helen pleads -- the word is for her as much as it is for him. She fights the urge to just stab herself with his warm, hard, enticing cock. Instead, she grabs his firm ass and slowly pulls him in. He follows her lead and he feels her cunt part as it accepts his length and girth. It's like stepping into a familiar dream -- the sweet claustrophobia of having an endless enclosure of wetness and heat surrounding you, yielding yet wanton and demanding. Drake in entranced.

Helen is stretched beyond what she has felt before -- a finger, maybe 2 -- she often plays with her clit while putting them inside her, but the sensation of Drake opening her is a compelling mixture of pain and extravagant bliss. His invasion of her inside triggers images of dark forests and full moons and of fiery dances that fill her mind. As he begins to move in and out of her, the initial pain and discomfort is replaced by a alternating wave of fullness and release. She realizes she's being fucked. The word fills her senses, punctuated by the sweat falling off his body and the scent of his musky masculinity invading hers. She likes being fucked.

Drake feels Helen's pussy pulsate around his cock as he fills her with each thrust. He feels her small, firm breasts and rock hard nipples be crushed against his chest. He feels her legs wrap around his waist and he feels her hips buck and he feels his cock begin to burn as his come pushes against his restraint.

Helen bites Drake's neck as she feels a building wave of pleasure begin in the pulsations of her cunt -- it drives across her legs and arms and seems to coalesce in her chest before shooting up into her nipples and culminates with loud moans as she digs her red nails into his back. Drake licks her ear when he hears and feels her moans wash across his body, driving him to fuck her faster and faster until his body stiffens and his mind goes blank and all he feels is the release of his hot fluid into her thirsty cunt.

They come together, their bodies surrendering to the bliss of a shared orgasm.

But then something odd creeps across their skin and the room grows cold

"Do you feel that?" Helen asks, still breathless from her orgasm.

Drake nods and he kisses Helen before rising to his knees. He notices the chill and a strange silhouette dancing across the wall. On the other side of the room, two jack-o-lanterns grin at them with their twisted, pointy toothed smile. They are lit, but the glow is dark red and blood is dripping from their mouths. It chills Drake to the bone and he shivers.

"Drake?" Helen asks. Her eyes roam across the walls and she gasps. They're pulsating -- expanding and retreating like lungs, or a beating heart. The sound of heavy breathing seems to assault them from everywhere -- she scrambles to her knees and huddles with Drake as he grabs the blankets and wraps them around their trembling bodies. They can't get off the bed as the floor seems to have fallen away and they float in an abyss full of lonely bones.

The jack-o-lanterns have fallen onto the bones -- there's a rustling amongst the bones and some rattle and begin to move on their own, drawn to the pumpkins. The kids watch as skeletons topped with jack-o-lanterns heads get to their feet and salute them with a dramatic bow.

"Helen, they didn't slip us acid at the party, did they?" Drake suddenly asks as he struggles for some kind of rational explanation to the sight of the skeletons dancing a waltz in front of them.

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"Warmth."

The word resonates in room 302. Helen and Drake have been frozen in terror as they've watched the jack-o-lantern skeletons put their bony fingers in their mouths and suddenly projectile vomit thick gushers of warm, acrid smelling blood upon the walls. They then go about tracing the word "warmth" in the dark liquid in languages the teens recognize, and in languages they don't. Once the word has been scribbled on every wall in front of the kids, the skeletons face them, bow once again, and then face each other. Their bones disassemble in a series of snapping sounds and reform into a gateway. The jack-o-lanterns crown at the top.

Helen and Drake are sweating now -- the word in the blood has had an effect on the room temperature and it is getting hot. Drake tosses the blanket off them and moves a bit away from Helen. Her presence is comforting but in the heat, touching her is just too much.

"Why aren't we just leaving?" Helen asks, though she feels the answer is just beneath her sanity.

"I don't think we're supposed to," Drake answers. Helen nods. Her green eyes water and tears run down her cheeks. They stare at the bony gateway, the jack-o-lanterns starring back at them with their glowing red eyes until the young couple hears the first bubble pop. The blood begins to boil and with each popping bubble a translucent figure steps through and the room begins to crowd

Drake looks into the eyes of each new figure that enters the room, but all he sees is a sadness blind to all others. These souls -- spirits? -- are in limbo. He wonders if they are from the mythical cemetery the hotel is supposedly built on. Helen pulls him out of his reverie when she clutches his arm and dig her nails into his skin, drawing a fine filament of blood. In response the walls begin to pulsate again and droplets blood fly off and land on the dozen of pale skinned strangers, triggering within them a spark of awareness.

They fixate on Helen and Drake -- a equal number of male and female souls open their mouths and try to talk.

"Warmth," they chant in unison.

"Love."

Drake slides of the bed as if the words were a summons. Helen follows him -- she's afraid of where he'll take her, but she's more afraid of being in the room without him. She grabs his hand -- he brings her fingers to his mouth and kisses her fingers, hoping to reassure her despite his own fear.

The souls separate into two clans: the men stand before Drake and the women before Helen. They lock eyes as the souls surround them -- the dead extend their translucent hands and press into the warm bodies of the young lovers. Drake stiffens as he feels a something like thousands of little fingers wriggling beneath his skin wherever the dead push intangibly beyond his skin -- their ephemeral limbs find his nerves and they follow them across his body, circling his will and usurping his control. He watches as their forms liquefy and the souls circling him melt into his body and he drowns in their memories..

Helen's hair stands on end as she feels the chill of the lifeless breath of the dead women as they observe her lithe form. As their fingers push into her flesh, she's flooded with memories -- strange sights of smiles bleeding tears swirl behind her eyelids as she feels herself fill with the weight of the lives these women have lived. Memories of happy families, forbidden loves and violent ends becomes hers, replacing hers. She sees Drake through a dozen eyes before she forgets her own.

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Young lovers stare at each other with eyes they don't remember. They once had names -- those few syllables are lost amongst a dozen other names. They're young lovers carrying a dozen lifetimes who remember what it was like to fuck.

He looks down and sees his cock is hard and a drop of precome has formed at the tip. He follows where it points and he sees a lovely young woman. She is touching her body, apparently fascinated by all her curves and creases. He stares as his hands -- they are calloused. He remembers swinging an ax towards an ancient tree. He made houses; he fought a war; he made bread; he plays guitar. He is the echo of many men. He takes his cock and all the chaos behind his eyes focuses.

She allows her hands to roam across her new body -- she finds firm, small breasts when she once had sagging, aged flesh. She's taller than she remembers, but she currently remembers having been a 75 year old widower. When she reaches up and pinches her thick pink nipples, she remembers them being kisses by a full set of sensual lips. She reaches between her legs and she recalls the pain of having innocence torn away. It contrasts with the sweet memory of fullness and bliss that accompanies images of him, entering her and fucking her. He is tenderness and violence and she wants all of him.

He falls to his knees before her and he kisses the small patch of blond hair between her elegant legs. She feels wetness run between her legs and part of her wonders if she's lost control, but is relieved when the musky smell of pussy reaches her nostrils. She feels his nose press into her pussy and she raises her leg and places it on his shoulder. She releases a sharp breath when his tongue finds the soft flesh of her cunt lips.

He feels his tongue stir with a direction unfamiliar as it traces the outlines of her inner graces. He feels her quiver as he finds the special places that make her breathing erratic. He is startled by the rush of fluid that flows over his tongue -- the taste is acrid, salty, delicious. He pushes deeper into her cunt (many in him balk at what he doing, but they are obsessed by the reaction) and he moves his tongue violently from left to right and out and across her clit till she washes his face with her juices.

The physical sensation of his licking her inners silences the women in her and they form a choir and their combined voices moan and echo in the room. She throws her head back in pleasure, her eyes clenched shut -- but she sees him still through the eyes of a lovely ghostly face peaking out of the skin of her long neck. Other faces melt out of her chest and belly and stare with livid fascination as he works his tongue across her thighs, kissing and licking before going back to work on her pussy. As he reaches up to grab her breast -- flesh on flesh -- he feels an odd tingling beneath his skin and a crackling ravages his nerves before he sees the ethereal arms escape his skin like smoke to mingle with the whispery limbs that escape her flesh.

As the ghosts conjure, she grabs him him by his untidy long hair and slides her leg off his shoulder. She pulls him to his feet and takes his place on her knees. She's fascinated by the long bit of warm, silky flesh that extrudes from her lover. His cock. She taps it as a sit bobs about, it leaves a ghostly after image in the air of other cocks, dicks, pricks, tube steaks, love snakes, lust wands -- words she's never heard enter her mind in the accents of her phantom guests. She opens her mouth and takes the thick, purple tip of his tool and he gasps as her tongue whips across his excited skin. She wraps her natural hands around his girth and pumps him while her heads bobs back and forth across his tip. She enjoys how he thrusts forward, wanting to dive deeper into her mouth but relents to her control of his desires. She pops him out of her mouth and kisses his base -- she feels an odd pressure and two other heads, gray and smoky, melt from her neck and apply their eldritch lips across the tip and down the other sides of his member, trapping him in a triumvirate of natural and supernatural desire.

He silently howls while his open mouth reverberates with the moans and cries and grunts of pleasure of those who inhabit him. The insistent actions of her mouth and the echoed actions of her possessors pull his desire into a vortex, swallowing his sanity down beyond even the voices of the ghost. Lights arc across his vision as he unleashes a spiritual flow of ethereal come the follows the path his natural orgasm would -- the ghosts in him amplify their pleasure through his bliss and they splash rapturous light onto his lover and those she surrogates.